


Government Property

by PoisonedPlume



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Army, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Attempt at Humor, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Steve Rogers is a little shit, Tiny bit of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 08:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonedPlume/pseuds/PoisonedPlume
Summary: It’s only been a day from Steve’s departure when Bucky receives the call.It’s not what he was expecting. Then things just get worse.Inspired by a long lost Tumbrl post.





	Government Property

When the call came, Bucky had expected the worst. It had only been a day from Steve's departure. He felt his heart falter to a stop and steeled his tone in answering.

"Sergeant Barnes."

The voice on the other side of the line said: "This is private Johnson, sir. I'm calling about the well-being of Captain Rogers."

Bucky's heart sunk. The scar tissue on his shoulder started to tingle painfully, the prosthetic arm felt heavier than ever.

These days the feeling was almost unfamiliar. Unlike the months after his discharge, when he had come back without an arm and a brand new deal in PTSD. When he had lost hope and instead gained nightmares.

Steve had been there. He had gotten himself almost an entire year of leave.  
He pulled Bucky through the explosive shells scattered throughout his brain, through the sudden bouts of anger and guilt.

Bucky would look at the picture of his division on their fireplace and forget how to breathe. How to recognize that surviving is not a fault, that being alive shouldn't make you feel ashamed. That there were no purple hearts nor silver stars for the panic that grated away at his intestines, digesting his conscience.  
  
Steve was always there, to help him remember how to get his lungs to fill up again, to steady him when he thought that he was back there, under the scalding sun, bleeding to death on foreign sand. Steve was there behind him grounding him through their funerals, steadying his hands during the service, spent watching as s bunch of empty elegant coffins were lowered underground, in neat rows, surrounded by well kept grass.

He had laughed like a madman, long after it all ended, reading the inscription on their graves. He knew them like his own family, his brothers.

Steve was there to hold him, to keep him upright. When the uncontrollable laughter became wrecked sobs and scorching tears. When the light of day looked too much like a tank's headlights. When he felt like drowning, his senses screaming at him, with the urge of scrub his skin off, the urge to hurl that fake arm as far as possible.

Steve was always there to bring him back to reality. But now he wasn't, and Bucky felt like every breath seared his insides.

"...-eant Barnes?" The voice brought him back, "Sergeant Barnes? Can you hear me, sir?"

He forced himself to reply, hoping that his voice would not tremble. "Yes?" It didn't crack. Bucky took that as a win.

"Sergeant Barnes, I'm sorry to inform you that you've damaged government property."

"Sorry, what?" Bucky was completely dumbfounded.

Private Johnson sounded like he was doing his best not to laugh.

"Is this a prank?" He asked, his tone dry and hard.

A deep sigh came from the other end of the line. "Sergeant Barnes, sir. Captain Rogers, as every soldier in the US military forces, when in service constitutes government property. This morning a hickey was visible over the Captain's collar. I must ask you to refrain from doing this again, as it constitutes vandalism against government property. If this were to happen again, you will be fined and a note will be added to your permanent file."

Bucky blinked twice, and replied in autopilot: "Thank you private Jonson. This won't happen again, my apologies."

The soldier sighed again. "Thank you for understanding, sir. I hope you have a good day. Captain Rogers sends his regards. Good bye."

Bucky probably replied, because he felt the familiar click signaling the end of the call. He took two weak steps and then collapsed against the wall and started laughing.

He laughed 'till his sides hurt and he couldn't breathe properly. His laughter was completely silent at this point, tears streaming down his reddened face, and he was clapping his hands over nothing.

Twenty minutes later, exiting the kitchen with a coffee mug in hand, he reached for his phone and pulled up the messaging app, struggling to not start laughing again.

"Oh, Clint will get a kicker out of this."

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I tried to make this a humour based thing. I really tried. Apparently I physically cannot write without any angst, so here we go. I'm sorry?


End file.
